


a collection

by whatwouldluciferdo



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dessert & Sweets, F/M, Free the curls, Hair, Hair Product, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Stakeout, Undercover, lucifer is high
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 20:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14197038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatwouldluciferdo/pseuds/whatwouldluciferdo
Summary: a collection of one-shots. ideas mostly stolen with thanks from @luciferprompts. | #4 Pierce engineers for him and Chloe to do a surveillance job where they have to spend several days in the same hotel room. His plan backfires as he gets orders to work on a more important case, so Lucifer and Chloe get stuck together in the hotel room instead. Set late season 3.





	1. cuddling

**Author's Note:**

> if you follow me on tumblr (@whatwouldluciferdo), you may have seen these around. adding them here for safe keeping.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe is a hot sleeper, and Lucifer likes to cuddle. Chloe constantly wakes up sweating in the middle of the night because Lucifer is glued to them.

 

Chloe jerks awake in the middle of the night, a sticky sweat gleaming across her skin, uncomfortably hot. She can feel her hair stuck and matting at the nape of her neck. The back of her throat is dry and she licks her lips in search of fresh moisture. Both her feet have wedged out from underneath the comforter in search of cooler air but her body still burns through to her veins.

Lucifer crowds her, curled up tight at her back, lying against the long line of her body. All the times she’s pictured being in his bed, she never thought he’d be a _cuddler_. That he’d be the one tugging her close each night and tangling their legs together and bruising her skin because he doesn’t want to let her go.

She twists in his embrace onto her back so she can cast her eyes across his face. His cheek is pressed deep into the pillow, expression slack with sleep, but his hand curls tight at her hip, holding her to him. Her fingertips touch his jaw lightly, nails scratching through the dark stubble.

“Lucifer,” she whispers. He lets out a light breath but doesn’t otherwise stir. “Lucifer, wake up.”

No response.

She stretches slowly and peels his broad hands from her hip until she can wiggle across the sheets and away from the warmth of his body. The cool night air washes across her skin and although her body shivers involuntarily, she drinks it in.

When she settles, she finds his hand has fallen on the sheets halfway between them, almost reaching for her. Chloe curls her fingers over his knuckles, keeps him just close enough, and falls back to sleep.

* * *

When she wakes up two hours later, he’s pressed against her again.

It’s still dark out when she cracks one eyelid open. The moonlight filters in through blinds they forgot to close, casting shadows over the slope of his nose. He’s migrated toward her again, his head now cushioned by one pillow they share, clingy and cuddly.

Her fingers curve across his shoulder and she leans close, nudges her nose against his. “Lucifer,” she calls softly.

He huffs sleepily and his eyelids flutter but don’t open. “Chloe.”

The breathy sound of her name on his tongue is delicious. It has her body tingling in response, an electric livewire. Her lower lip stings as she bites down on it, trying to tamp down the sensational skip of her heart.

“Lucifer.” She tilts forward until their foreheads kiss and feathers her lips against his. “You’re too hot.”

He exhales a low, throaty sound and scrubs a hand over his face, blinking hazily at her. “I know I’m attractive but you need to control yourself, detective. I’m trying to sleep.”

Chloe stifles the scoff in her throat before the noise can escape and she pushes on his chest for space. “I’m serious. I can’t _sleep_.”

He grins, somehow both sleepy and smoldering, and dips his lips to the tender skin stretched across her collarbone. “Well, what did you expect when you got into bed with the devil?”


	2. sweets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe buys a box of sweets and puts them in the cupboard. Lucifer spontaneously eats them all in the middle of the night and tries to keep it a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set anytime pre-couple. (Because we all know it’s a matter of when, not if.)

 

Chloe jolts awake deep into the night, her body throwing off the haze of sleep in an instant, replacing it with a livewire through her veins. It takes her a moment to realize what’s woken her. Because Maze is bounty hunting on the east coast and Trixie is with Dan and yet she can hear movement downstairs. Her stomach sinks like lead. 

There’s someone in the house. 

It’s instinct, the way she reaches for her handgun. She slides her bedside drawer open silently, lifts the small piece from where she keeps it only when her daughter isn’t home. Untangling her legs from between the sheets, she slips her socked feet carefully onto the floorboards. Her movements are silent as she slips through her ajar bedroom door and out onto the landing at the top of her staircase. 

She can’t see any light from the floor below. Wrapped in darkness, she descends the stairs quickly, gun steady in front of her. At the bottom of the staircase she pauses, draws in a deep breath, and spins around the corner. 

The gun in her hand falls to her side nearly instantly and she sighs, exasperated. Even through the darkness she can easily identify the outline of her partner, his hip propped up against the kitchen counter with his back to her. 

“Are you  _kidding_  me, Lucifer?” Fingers sliding over the safety to double check it’s still on, she places her gun onto the buffet and flicks the light switch on. “I nearly shot you. What are you still doing here?”

He’d turned up high on her doorstep hours ago, absolutely blazed, a wide, loose grin on his face. Not impressed, she’d closed the door on him and sent him home. She didn’t even want to know what drugs he’d taken.

When he finally answers her, his voice is too careful not to be suspicious. “I – can you go back upstairs?” 

She scoffs, the noise catching a half-laugh in her throat at the audacity of his question. “No. This is  _my_ home.” When he still doesn’t turn to face her, Chloe’s face slackens. “What have you done?”

“Nothing,” he tries to say, voice dripping with false innocence, but she’s already taking three large strides to round on him. And then she sees it – the open cupboard and empty wrappers spread across her kitchen island. Cookie crumbs, empty Twinkie packets, torn Reese’s foil, and a half eaten Hershey’s bar. 

She growls, a sound that is anything but threatening in the matching plaid PJs she’s currently sporting, and pinches his arm. “Lucifer, that candy was for Halloween!”

“I was  _starving_ ,” he announces dramatically. 

She scowls at him and reaches for the box of Jolly Ranchers in his hand. He tugs them back to his chest too quickly, a few of the candies flying out the open top. 

“Oh no,” he sighs, loud and exaggerated. Lucifer bends toward the ground and she’s  _sure_  his intention is to pick up the fallen candy, but she can only watch – almost in slow motion – as he tilts the box in his hand too far and all the candy scatters across her floor.

Chloe closes her eyes and draws in two deep breaths. When she reopens her eyelids, he’s foregone picking up the candy, instead sporting a childlike pout with his gaze cast to the floor. 

“Okay.” She grabs his arm and tugs encouragingly as she takes a step toward the living room. “Forget the candy. Let’s get you to bed.”

He clumsily catches her waist. “Only if you’re coming with me,” he teases suggestively. Her eyes roll and she ignores him as she carefully guides him to her sofa. She coaxes him to lie down across the cushions, snagging the throw blanket from the far corner to drape it over him. 

Despite all the sugar he’s consumed (and God only knows what else), it’s only a few moments before his body begins to slacken with sleep. Her hand pulls away from where she tucks the blanket over his shoulder, brushing his cheek for just a moment before she composes herself. 

He stirs for a second, face snuggling into her cushions, but his eyes don’t open. “Love you,” he mumbles.

Her heart skips ridiculously, butterflies racing around her stomach. He’s stoned with the munchies; he doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

And yet – 

She loves him too.  


	3. free the curls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer looses a bet and has to go hair-product free for a month. Curls-gone-wild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #freethecurls

It started as a bit of harmless fun.  

He thought he couldn’t beat her at poker. She countered that he never lies.  

She won. 

(Of course.) 

Her prize? She’s tired of waiting on him to get ready every time they leave the house.  _She_  shouldn’t be waiting on  _him_. So she told him he’d have to forgo the hair product for a month.  

It’s day one and she already can’t concentrate. She can’t do much other than  _stare_ , like a sixteen-year-old with a schoolgirl crush. And it’s not just her. It’s the whole police station, every officer slowing their steps as they pass her desk, lingering just a few seconds too long. And their eyes definitely aren’t on her.  

Because the curls are free.  

And everyone is enjoying it as much as she is. 

* * *

 

Chloe bites her lip and gives him a slow once-over as he sits in the chair beside her desk. For once, he’s actually focused on their case, flipping through the report the crime scene techs compiled.  

“You know,” Lucifer comments slowly, “I think the butler did it.” 

She hums mindlessly, her eyes for once not drifting down, but instead  _up_  to his locks.  Her body vibrates with the deep cadence of his voice, a warm pleasure.  

“Detective?” he questions lightly.  

At the sound of his voice, she manages an absent hum and drags her eyes back to his. “Yeah?” 

“I said that I think it was the butler.” 

She stares at him, her face void of any expression. The butler? She can barely remember interviewing him.  

“I’m sorry to interrupt guys, but – ”  

Chloe tears her gaze away from her partner to find Ella standing in front of her desk. The girl pauses, a long awkward moment as her lips slowly part, her expression blank as she  _very_  openly stares.  

“Are you okay, Miss Lopez?” Lucifer asks – sweetly or innocently, Chloe’s not sure. “Would you like a seat?”  

He’s halfway out of his chair before Ella is waving him off. “Uh – no. Just – came to drop off the toxicity results. Came back clean.” 

Lucifer sighs, exasperated. “Well, that rules out the butler.” 

Ella’s eyes wander for one long final moment before she abruptly turns and heads for her lab.   

Lucifer lets out another light huff and settles back into his chair. “Well. That was strange. Even for Ella.” 

Chloe shakes her head to herself.  

No. It wasn’t strange. Because she’s pretty sure she knows  _exactly_  what’s going through Ella’s head.  

She’s pretty sure it’s the same thing going through her own head.  

She swallows. He looks  _good_  and she hates him for it. Because all she wants to do is run her fingers through his hair and kiss the smirk off his face.  

Chloe stands suddenly, the back of her knees catching the edge of her chair and pushing it backward, out of her way. “Lucifer. We need to talk.” Her voice is short and sharp. 

His eyebrows knit together in genuine concern. “Are  _you_ okay, Detective?” 

She says nothing but grabs his elbow and steers him away from her desk. She holds her breath as they pass her co-workers, heart tripping as if they know what she’s about to do, but their eyes are – still – most definitely not on her. She passes a meeting room, two, before  _finally_  finding the door to the concrete stairwell. She pushes down on the handle and shoves him inside,  _hard_.  

“Detective, if I’ve – ”  

She silences him with a kiss, tongue slick and hot over his. He groans immediately, arches into her even as she pushes him back against the wall. It’s wrong,  _so_  wrong to be doing this at work, but she’s too far gone to care. She’s been staring at those damn curls for hours now and there’s no way she can wait until they get home.  

His jacket drops into a puddle at their feet before she makes quick work on the top buttons of his shirt. She gives up at the third stubborn button, her hands sliding down between them to reach for his belt instead, unbuckling it with ease before reaching for the zip of her own pants.  

He turns her around suddenly, his body crowding hers into the wall. His lips break from hers to start a journey down her neck.  “Of all the times I’ve suggested this,” he presses a warm kiss to her pulse, “Why today?” 

He nips lightly at her skin and this time  _she’s_ groaning, her knees giving out, but his arm is tight around her waist, holding her to him. She winds her arms around his neck, up through his hair, fingers knotting in his locks. He finally catches on and lets out a short, shaky laugh.  

“Shut  _up_ ,” she growls before dragging his mouth back to hers. 

* * *

The next day, she waits for him to fix his hair before heading to the station. She doesn’t need another day of distraction. 

The moment they get home, though, she throws him in the shower, slipping into the stall after him, hands weaving through his hair as she pushes him against the tiles.  

She wants to free those curls.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me over on tumblr - @whatwouldluciferdo


	4. stakeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierce engineers for him and Chloe to do a surveillance job where they have to spend several days in the same hotel room. His plan backfires as he gets orders to work on a more important case, so Lucifer and Chloe get stuck together in the hotel room instead. Set late season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this one a while back.

“We’re sharing a bed.”

She closes her eyes against Lucifer’s comment. The hotel room isn’t spacious – a studio with one queen bed, a desk, and adjacent bathroom. They’ll be here for the next three days and there isn’t anywhere to hide.

“It’s the only room that shares a wall with our suspects,” Chloe tells him. “We didn’t want to tip them off by having hotel staff rearrange the room for our arrival.”

When she finally drags her eyes open, he’s still staring at the bed. Her heart skitters and she turns away abruptly; she doesn’t want to think about what’s going through his head when she has a boyfriend who was supposed to be here with her.

“Now come on.” She lifts one of the suitcases up onto the bed and tears the zips open. “Help me get the recording equipment out.”

* * *

He exits the bathroom that night without a shirt, long silk pyjama pants hanging low off his hips. His curls are damp, a rare sight free of product, drying haphazardly across his forehead. She swallows, hard, and studiously focuses her eyes on the book in her lap as he slides into the sheets beside her.

“How’s your offspring?” he asks lightly. He’d excused himself to the shower to allow her a modicum of privacy when she’d called Trixie.

“Good,” she murmurs. Her fingers fold over the corner of the current page to mark her place and twists to place it on the bedside table. “Dan made chocolate cake for dessert.”

“And Pierce?”

The book slips from her hand, falls to the floor with a soft  _thump_. Silently cursing, she reaches down for it, places it carefully at right angles on the table.

Pierce wasn’t happy when she chose Lucifer to assist with the operation. It had led to yet another argument. But he’d been called out last minute to another assignment and Lucifer is her partner. What else is she supposed to do? 

Still. She sent him a text a few hours ago over dinner:  _Wish you were here_. 

She never received a response. 

Chloe clicks her lamp off and throws her head deep into the feather pillow. “I don’t know.”

A long moment of silence stretches between them, uncertain. 

“I’m sorry if I’m coming between you,” Lucifer whispers softly. 

She raises one eyebrow but doesn’t look at him, can’t bear to see whatever expression is on his face. “No you’re not.” 

He huffs and switches off his lamp, casting them in darkness. “No. Not really.”

She smiles to herself in the dark. At least he’s being honest. 

Chloe closes her eyes after that but doesn’t fall asleep. She’s not sure he does, either. The mattress dips every now and again as he shifts, a careful attempt to settle on the far edge, away from her. It somehow makes the hotel room feel even smaller in the dark, the tension palpable as they both feign sleep. Because she’s in bed with another man.

And yet it feels like the  _right_  man. 

She sucks in a cursed breath. This is ridiculous. She rolls onto her side, toward him. They left the blinds open so she can see him easily. The moonlight is gentle, casting shadows across the bed in which they both lie. His back is to her, scars bare between the broad lines of his shoulders, his entire body tense. Tentative fingertips reach for him, delicately tracing those scars; to heal him or protect him, she’s not sure. She feels his lean muscles constrict under her touch but she only pushes herself closer until her breath ghosts across his back. 

“The more time I spend with Pierce,” she starts slowly, barely audible, “The more I don’t think we’re meant to work.” 

His voice is deliciously rough when he questions her. “And why is that?”

The tight fist in her chest loosens with the steady rise and fall of his back. “Because we keep having the same argument. About – you.” 

With that, he finally turns to her, one eyebrow raised toward his hairline. His eyes are shining bright under the hesitant moonlight. “Me?”

The words are thick in her mouth. “About you… and I.” 

She’s not sure who moves first. It’s more… gravity. Their bodies know what they both need, frissons of delight sparking everywhere across her skin as their lips finally touch once again. 

His hand curls at the back of her neck, thumb at her jaw, powerful, opening her to him. She sinks into him, limp and unresisting. His hands are everywhere – her hair, her hip, up and down her spine. The slow heat between their bodies begins to burn more urgently and she can taste the drowning need at the back of his kiss. She drags her tongue over his and he groans, a deep and primal sound, and pushes her gently down into the mattress so he can crawl above her.

Somewhere, deep in her mind, she knows this is not a good idea. Because they may be undercover, but none of this is fake. Not to her. 

But she doesn’t have the strength to stop. 

His tongue is doing wicked things to her and she can’t help the gasp that knots in her throat. His hand finds the back of her knee, curves it up so her leg cradles his hip, her heel digging into the back of his thigh. He’s so broad above her, all encompassing and warm. His tongue strokes past the seam of her lips again and again and her heart surges with the sear intensity of it all. Her hands glide down the hard muscles of his back bowed over her, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants, seeking more skin, dipping just below the waistline. 

And then, in a brutal instant, he tears away. Her eyes startle open, find his staring down at her, dark and mesmerized and tortured. She can still feel the ragged thump of his heart against hers and she swears can almost –  _almost_  – feel it breaking. 

“We can’t,” he rasps, his breath a riot across her lips. “I want to. I  _want_ to. But we – ”

“I know.” She’s panting just as heavily as her heart is swallowed deep into her stomach. She has a boyfriend. 

(She doesn’t want to have a boyfriend.)

“I know we can’t,” she echoes herself. 

Her palm comes up to his cheek, cupping his face, thumb caressing away the frown lines at his temple. 

And then the truth she’s known all along spills from deep within her. “But I want to.”


End file.
